Chapter 62
Evie
Evie Sage was about to sit across a table…from her father.
“What sort of torture cruise is this?” Evie hissed to Trystan as the long table was placed on the deck and everyone milled about, looking for their seat.
“Would you like to switch?” Trystan murmured.
“Who’s sitting next to you?”
“My mother.”
She shivered. “Never mind. I’ll hide behind the centerpiece.”
There were delightful dinner parties.
And then there was whatever horror this was.
The crew started putting out place settings, pouring wine, even offering little pats of butter as the group settled in. Like a happy little deranged family.
As pleasant as monthly inventory. Or a tooth being drilled.
“This wine is divine, Captain. Your taste is impeccable,” Benedict commended jovially as he refilled his own glass, like they were all dear acquaintances sharing a meal, rather than bitter enemies doing their very best not to commit murder over the appetizers.
Raising his goblet toward Evie and Trystan, he added, “You both must try.”
Evie lifted her glass, downed the liquid in one gulp, then extended the cup with a smug smile she knew Benedict and her father would hate. Her lips pulled wider at the thought, commanding the king of Rennedawn, “Refill me.”
She wasn’t looking at Griffin Sage, but she could hear his chair creak as he stood, could hear his outrage as he spat, “Show some respect, you insolent little—”
“No.” Trystan was standing now, too, and when Evie saw his face, she glimpsed The Villain once again, the darkness of the magic beneath her skin cheering for it. Oh no, that was her, actually. Cheering out loud.
She closed her mouth to stop from whistling.
“I may not be able to hurt you right this second, but you’ll leave this ship eventually. Continue speaking to her that way, and I will happily spend the rest of my days hunting you. Sit. Down.”
Griffin curled his lip as he looked at Trystan with distaste, but he slowly descended back to his seat. “You are no longer The Villain, sir. I have no need to fear you. Your magic is gone.”
Trystan took a swig of his own wine, not mentioning his Core Healer magic returning to him. Or what that power entailed.
It was fair, mostly because Evie knew he had no idea the extent of its reach, either.
“Magic was never my preferred way of killing someone,” he murmured instead with lethal quiet. And then, not looking away from her father, he reached for the bottle and poured more wine into Evie’s cup.
How was a girl meant to keep a level head under these conditions?
Tatianna was on the other side of Evie, glaring at Griffin, tapping her fingers against her folded arms. Alexander was next to Tati, still a human, thank goodness. He leaned over to face the rest of them and mouthed one word.
Ew.
And then two thumbs down. Evie smiled; Kingsley had not lost his talent for saying much with a single word. And it was somehow funnier with a facial expression added to it, as his mouth turned down in a large frown.
“How good it is to see you again, Alexander. It’s been such a long time.” Amara raised an eyebrow as she buttered her bread.
Clare mimicked the movement. “Well, you were busy, Mother, turning him into a frog.”
Amara stood and hissed, “Apologize to me this instant.”
Tatianna opened her mouth, but Clare grabbed her hand, motioning for her to stop. The tensions were growing so fraught, no one was touching the food now being served to them by the crew.
Evie knew that even in a state of righteous turmoil, she still had finely honed skills to call on. Villain or royalty or assistant, it mattered not.
She would always know how to make a bad situation…worse.
Taking a bite of her salad, she chewed slowly, then remarked, “The chicken is dry.”
Charles stared daggers, his fork rattling on his plate when he pointed at her. “Your manners are abysmal, Ms. Sage.”
She leaned over her plate, holding up the vegetable on her fork, twirling it. “So is the asparagus.”
Trystan squeezed her leg under the table, but when she looked at him, impossible amusement was shimmering in his eyes.
“Enough unpleasantness,” Griffin ordered, shifting forward in his seat.
Evie deadpanned, “Oh, are you leaving?”
Alexander laughed into his fist, and Clare passed him a napkin, pulling back her own grin.
Her father frowned. “I hardly recognize you, Evangelina.”
“That is typically the case when you’re speaking with a stranger.” Evie took a hearty swig of her wine, letting the warmth spread down her throat and into her stomach, dulling the heartache stirring at facing the man again.
“What an interesting collection of people we have here to celebrate the life of Arthur Maverine,” Captain Jones chimed in from the table’s head.
Interesting, yes. Like an unexplained rash.
“I’m sure he’d be pleased to have at least one of his children here.” Griffin sawed at the meat on his plate, a snideness to his tone.
“He has two children on board,” Clare corrected pointedly.
Benedict exchanged a look with Griffin. “No. I don’t believe he does.”
Trystan flinched.
“Pass the rolls, Evangelina,” Griffin ordered, seeing the impact his words had on Trystan with a smugness that sent her into a burning rage.
She was incapable of cold anger; like all her emotions, it burned brightly, the magic beneath her skin pushing to the surface yet unable to escape, the scar at her shoulder blazing beneath the cloth of her dress.
The bit of Trystan’s left-behind magic, seeking to protect him.
She could not use violence. It left her with two choices: use her words…or get creative.
Evie picked up a piece of bread from the basket in front of her…and chucked it at her father’s head, slapping him on the forehead with a hollow thunk.
It was not so much letting the intrusive thoughts win as it was a healthy surrender.
Trystan began choking on whatever he had taken a bite of, watching her the same way she’d once watched a bird fly full force…into a tree.
Griffin, for his part, seemed to be shocked by the wheat-derived projectile, his mouth falling open in a soundless sputter of red-faced anger.
Tatianna was stifling laughter with her fingers, leaning against Clare’s shoulder to avoid being seen, and Trystan had recovered enough to hold up a staying hand to Charles, who seemed ready to burst at the uncivilized display.
Evie took another sip of her wine and picked up the butter dish, then asked pleasantly, “Would you like me to pass this as well?”
Griffin didn’t take her bait. Instead, he sat back in his seat with a look of pure loathing on the face she’d known all her life. “I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“I’d prefer you not plant a bomb in my workplace after trying to sell me like a slab of meat.
But silly me, you’re a butcher, after all.
” Evie saluted him, feeling the warmth of the wine lowering all her inhibitions, all her fear burning away in the pit of her stomach.
The setting sun was now hitting the water, and she noticed with a jolt of joy that it was creating a ring of rainbows reflecting off each wave.
It was a beautiful setting for such an ugly scene.
“Has anyone here ever read The Cunning Corset Society?” Trystan asked, casually taking a bite of the entrée now on his plate.
This time, it was Evie who choked.
Trystan merely continued looking at the food on his plate in careless contemplation, but beneath the table, large, warm fingers twined with Evie’s, the glow of the scar tingling in response.
“And what is that about?” Tatianna smirked, looking tickled by the new topic.
“From what I’ve gleaned so far, it explores a woman’s struggle to find harmony in an unfair world driven by men while falling for a man at the same time. Ultimately a conflict of identity.”
Evie’s mouth fell open, so struck was she by the assessment. Trystan spoke of the book like a student defending a theory to a group of scholars. And the answering blank stares around the table were proof he’d succeeded.
“And…” Tatianna urged, evilly, truly.
Trystan’s face pinched. “Oh. Are you referring to the graphic lovemaking?”
“The graphic what now?” Griffin looked like he was about to explode from anger.
Evie wheezed. “Did you say lovemaking?”
“Blade told me I should avoid the word ‘fornicating’ when speaking in a romantic sense.” He looked at her with obviously feigned concern, explaining carefully, “You’re aware it’s a romance book.”
“I know it’s a romance book!” Evie threw her hands up.
At the same time, Amara slammed her hands down. “I’ve had enough! This is a celebration-of-life dinner, and you all are making a mockery of it!”
“And setting Arthur up to be killed wasn’t?” Clare lifted a skeptical brow.
“Clare!” Tatianna whispered her name in giddy shock. “Brava.”
Amara seethed, her shoulders moving up and down with angry breaths. “I will retire to my cabin now. Good evening.”
“I’ve never seen such unnecessary cruelty,” Lord Charles uttered, digging into his mashed potatoes.
“That’s not true,” Trystan accused, then lazily sipped on his wine.
Charles paled, cautiously putting down his fork and knife when Trystan stood, rounding the table to face the magical specialist head-on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come now, Charles. I know it’s been some years, but don’t say you don’t remember the summer we all spent together in my nineteenth year of life.”
Evie froze, the hairs on her arms rising.
King Benedict smiled. “And here I thought you didn’t remember.”
“Remember what?” Clare asked, looking ready to spill orange ink over the entirety of the table.
The kind of ink that melted objects into nothing.
“Charles was my magical specialist, once upon a time. Tell them, Charles,” The Villain encouraged. On the surface, it appeared to be a friendly invitation, but Evie knew the man better than she knew herself, and his eyes were hard chips of black.
Charles swallowed, looking like his dinner was about to make a resurgence. “That was a lifetime ago. I was following orders from my king.”
“To do what, pray tell?” Tatianna drawled, gaze sharp on the two men.
Trystan grabbed Charles by the collar, ignoring the man’s yelp, and the Valiant Guards stood at the threat, hands on their swords.
But Charles did not struggle against Trystan’s hold. Like he knew whatever Trystan would do was deserved.
“Charles was the one who declared me The Villain.”